


Devotion

by Halcy (halcyonweekend)



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonweekend/pseuds/Halcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from my tumblr. It's a oneshot a part of this yakuza sort of AU. It's a bit old so I apologize for the [lack of] quality. Also I love in medias res, sorry.

Kojuro switched off the radio as news reports funneled in, bringing everything else to a crawl. What normally brought his calmness was no more, their absence beginning to agitate him, though his expressions revealed nothing of the sort.  
He caught a glimpse of his clothes in the mirror, and gave a look of faint disgust. What remained of a simple, brown two piece suit was slathered in blood, of whose he hadn’t a single idea, and sliced into dully colored confetti. What a waste. He readjusted the rear-view mirror as he barreled down the long stretch of highway, the pair of headlights being the only thing to pierce the darkness before him.

He blindly reached for the glove compartment, picking out a pack of smokes. Luckily, one still remained, which was promptly lit with the in-car lighter (a godsend in times like these), and nestled between his already parted lips. Menthol and tobacco filled his lungs like fresh air could never do, and he let out a low, prolonged sigh.

Dealing with the other families was like dwelling with starved, beaten animals, pissed off and ready to sink their teeth at the first sign of weakness, or at least something tasty enough. But they held their own, with their empire expanding at Date’s whim. At first, it was the small stuff, hits on some unpleasant folks, fixing fights, rigging games, nothing special or too messy. Then came the particularly brutal take overs, and Old Terumune kicking the bucket. From then, everyone thought the Date clan would tear themselves inside out, and they were /almost/ right. Yoshihime and Masamune would made sure of that. At the end of it, though, there could only be one, and it was the most well-deserved one too, in Kojuro’s mind.

//

"With Old Man Takeda gone, we’ll have to step up to the plate, eh?" His Cheshire grin could only be seen by the fleeting streetlights as they sped through back roads and empty streets.

"It can be no one else but you, my lord." With all of the other families in disarray, Fate itself handed the baton to the Date clan, and Masamune in particular.

The roaring Tiger of Kai hadn’t even cooled down in the morgue before they’d hit the road. Slain in broad daylight, before the very men sworn to protect him, without so much as a wave goodbye. He was the last in a long, long line of casualties courtesy of the so-called Devil King, Oda Nobunaga, and his generals, all who were a bit nutty themselves. When Masamune heard Nobunaga was bumping off head honchos one by one, he couldn’t help but pay attention. After a few melees between his men and generals, alongside Shingen’s death, Masamune wouldn’t stick to the sidelines anymore.

"Not that we’ve much of a choice," He retorted, hitching his legs up on the dashboard. He leaned his seat back to give himself some room, boot prints left on the wood paneling. "With Ieyasu and Tadakatsu feeding the maggots, and what’s left of Kenshin on a gurney, he’s making quite a stir. If he wants to have some fun before we take his head…then let’s party!"

//

As he caught sight of the city’s skyline, he relaxed a little, secure in the fact he would be home soon. The cigarette between his fingers was a pathetic nub now, embers fading quickly. Kojuro took a final inhale before tossing it out the window. He held the taste for as long as he could, smoke wafting out from his lips. Though he was a man of simple tastes, he couldn’t help but relish the feeling on his tongue. He tasted like his First.

//

They had come of their own volition, but it was if the red carpet had been rolled out for him and his men; there was nothing and no one in all the most important of security checkpoints and vantage points. An invitation to a very blatant trap. This was no surprise to Kojuro, who had already devised the plan of attack the moment they had received word of their rival’s untimely death. He wouldn’t allow them to stroll into the valley of Death itself without a trump card and a Plan B, C, and D, at the very least.

The further they delved into the Nobunaga estate, the less men came with them. Kojuro assured his lord that backup (and plenty of distractions) would be necessary. The others were less than pleased, wanting to have some fun themselves. There were the normal complaints, groans, and threats to disobey, but in all their years of serving Masamune, they knew Kojuro could do them no wrong. Date men took their places, leaving the most able to deal with the problem personally.

//

As the car pulled up to his apartment, he felt his body go slack, his arms folding on the steering wheel. The muscles in his arms and legs throbbed with a dulling ache, and he hesitated, taking a few seconds to relax. His abode was as modest as he was, despite Masamune’s prodding and offers for a place more “worthy of an eye of a Dragon”. He appreciated the concern, but all he needed (and wanted) was a single bedroom on the second floor. It had all the amenities without the unneeded glamour that the family estates exuded.

 

//

If nothing else, Nobunaga was keen on his kingship, his estate boasting egotistical portrait upon portrait, assorted paintings of war-torn landscapes and busts of himself wherever space remained. Though there were no official orders given, Masamune’s men would make sure there wasn’t much for Oda to gawk at when they made their leave.

Masamune stopped his showy trot down the main hall, placing his hand on one of the more ornate sculptures. “The height of hubris,” His lord remarked in practiced English, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “But when one’s so high up, there’s no way to go but down.” With the flick of his wrist, the hollowed stone fell with a satisfying crack, and to the hoots and hollers of his men.

Kojuro said and showed nothing, his face as stern as ever. Masamune took his non-reaction as a cue to speed things up a little. And that he did, leading them soon after to a large door, which was most certainly Nobunaga’s main office. They had not been stopped a single time otherwise, which had made for a pretty boring time. Their best men had begun to grow restless, but there was nothing a little bravado couldn’t fix.

The One Eyed Dragon took a few steps forward, calling out for the Devil King’s surrender. A moment or two passed, his answer given and decision made. He turned to the others, shrugged his shoulders, and with as much force as he could muster, kicked the doorknob straight off. With little ceremony, the door swung open, revealing an equally large office.

The details of the place didn’t matter so much, with their target standing calmly in the center of the room.

//

The walk up the stoop seemed to pull whatever energy he had left, reaching the top with the help of the bannister. He tried to remain composed, a hand carding through already-smoothened hair, but it was then, of all times, that his stone resolve flaked and crumbled. With a bit of fumbling, he opened the front door, taking a single step before leaning on the threshold. He turned to look at the starless sky, the cool night air flooding his lungs with each winded gulp he took. Kojuro was no novice, he was in the most shape he could ever be, but as he kept his gaze upwards, he could feel something…unpleasant. The cool air became too much to bear, and with little grace, he bent over and puked. Watery and acrid, he grimaced at the spots he left on the brick steps, spitting the rest of it at the trash cans below.

Alongside the blood, he now had his own bile to clean up. Wiping his mouth, he closed the door and made his way upstairs at a more relaxed pace.

//

As Oda Nobunaga turned to face them, his face was that of serenity, calm, collected, a thin veneer of what hid a hair-trigger. Masamune scoffed and made his way closer, his men surrounding them both. Guns and blades were pointed at him from all angles, and there would be so much to fight through if he wanted to make his escape.

Masamune grinned, victory only a shot or two away. “You’ve been causing us a bit of trouble, eh?” He unsheathed one of the blades from his waist. “The Tiger of Kai, the War God of Echigo, you even took out the marvel Tadakatsu…and poor Ieyasu. Almost tried to take me and my men here in one fell swoop. You’ve tried to make dogs of us all,” His grin warped into a sneer, his taunting devolving into a hiss. “but I’m no bitch, and I won’t lie down and die to the likes of you.” With a roar, he sped forward, his sword aiming right for the bastard’s neck. Just as the sword came down, a chuckle echoed throughout the office, followed by tortured screams behind them.

Kojuro glanced back, and saw three of his men step forward, before they fell apart at the waist. Blood stained the pearl tile, and more screams followed.

A woman and what looked to be a young boy stepped gingerly past the bodies. The woman turned to a panicked man of Date. She smiled coldly, a gun sliding out from her sleeve as she gestured to him. Three shots fired, and three men went down, each of them gaining a new hole in their skull.

Shadows became figures and from them came a hail of gunfire. Glass and stone alike shattered and splintered, upholstery became riddled with holes, shards and scraps and smoke filled the air as men of Date and Nobunaga retaliated.

"Imbecile!" The Devil King roared, a cry overpowering gunfire. "You are weak, and the weak are cast into the fires of hell!" He pulled out a sawed off shotgun and fired point blank.

Masamune just barely dodged the shells. Oda pulled out another and fired. This time Kojuro’s blade stopped them, steel folded thousands of times over slicing through the shells like straw.

//

Switching on the lights, he walked over to the living room, tossing his keys into a spare ashtray he kept by the couch. He was exhausted, but there was so much he had to do before the night was over.

He tossed his things, a duffle bag, and his special sword, by the bedroom door. He wondered if a snack was appropriate, but decided against it, wanting to get out of his dirty clothes as soon as possible. Kojuro hated to be in such disarray, even in the privacy of his own home.

//

Though they were both taken off-guard, Masamune and Kojuro recovered, quickly getting back into the swing of things. His retainer could feel a second attempt on Oda’s head, but before the dragon could act, Kojuro moved closer beside him, his blade up in a defensive position.

"My lord, we must take care of the others before you can take his head. There is one still missing in the fray—" Even the mere mention of his missing general was like a call to summon him. Before Kojuro could finish, he felt steel grit upon steel. Akechi Mitsuhide chuckled as they met face to face, a serpent’s tongue running across his lips. They had locked blades for only a few seconds, before the reaper’s thirst was directed elsewhere.

Like a man possessed, he danced through the hail of gunfire, laughing off scratches and scrapes, twirling his strange gaudy weapon around like a baton. His increasingly manic laughter was a sound no one would forget, no matter how long or hard they tried.

//

He peeled away the layers still intact, folding them neatly beside the tub. Twisting the shower’s knob on, he brought the temperature as high as his body could handle. There was no testing as he stepped into near-scalding water, a bar of soap in one hand, and a scouring pad in the other. The mingling blood and gore aside, he felt painfully /unclean/. If he weren’t in top shape, he felt he’d shame his First in Command, and that was the last thing he wanted.

//

Masamune drew all six swords, growing tired of Akechi’s theatrics. It wasn’t the first he’d seen of his warped balletics, but with his Right Eye now open and alert, it would surely be the last. The dazzling reaper realized the One Eyed Dragon was missing all the fun, and as he cleanly sliced a man in half, he changed direction mid-air, pitching himself forward with a ravenous glee. Kojuro distance himself at his lord’s command, keeping his back covered with two watchful eyes.

Masamune met the reaper’s gaze in kind, a familiar grin plastered on his face. He was excited to finish their business, before he would take his head, and the head of the one he served. Blades were locked immediately, Mitsuhide twirling his scythe around, keeping his prey on the defensive. Masamune wasn’t a fan of being toyed with, and with the tip of a hat, and luck on his side, he struck hard with a counter-offensive. Electricity crackled through the air, as unholy steel clanged against pure lightning. Lights popped and exploded, and everything was enveloped in a bright blue light. Nothing could stop a Dragon.

//

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he carded his wet hair back, keeping the droplets of water from stinging dry, red eyes. Kojuro’s bedroom was just as neat and orderly as he’d left it, a silk blue robe greeting him, folded on the bed. Slipping it on, he let out a sigh, stretching sore muscles. He took the robe’s spot on the bed, and looked over to the mess he’d left by the door. He never liked bringing work back home.

He walked over to the head of the bed, grabbing two pillows. It wasn’t much, but it was the least he could do at such short notice. He placed one at the foot of the bed, and the other before on the floor. He hoisted up the duffel bag, and gingerly unzipped it. The smell was almost too much to bear, at first. He kept his nerves still and lifted its contents from the nylon, placing it gently on the first pillow. Blood still leaked and stained. He then moved to kneel on the second pillow, not yet facing the first.

Kojuro was never one for outward emotion, as he tended to bottle up anything that might have been a distraction, but as he pulled the blade from its sheath, he began to weep. Kanji engraved years ago glistened from the moonlight. They were a promise of something that now would never be. And it was his fault.

As he looked into Date Masamune’s cold, glazed eyes, he whispered a million apologies that would never reach him. As he plunged the blade into his stomach, he cried and cried, begging for forgiveness. As he lost feeling and consciousness, he fell forward, the final fleeting thoughts cursing the men who stole his master’s life away from him.


End file.
